Patrick Henry's Words Gain New Significance
By Allyn Tunis
Some declarations in America, which have been aimed of late at totalitarian states as they scoff at democratic institutions and parliamentary government, are not new.
Just 163 years ago tomorrow, in Old St. John's Church, on Church Hill, Patrick Henry gave the battle cry which focused the thoughts of the Thirteen Colonies upon liberty. He it was who held high the flaming torch of freedom.
Early this month, President Roosevelt and Congress rededicated the country's faith to the principles laid down by Henry.
Today, America and other nations are rearming. Is history repeating itself? Henry's immortal words on March 20, 1775, when he called upon Virginians to arm, take on renewed significance in the face of present-day worldwide persecution and denial of civil and religious rights.
Most strangers in Richmond count their visit here lost unless they glimpse or touch Pew 47 in the little frame shrine at Twenty-fifty and Broad Streets, whose very walls are seered with the burning words of the oration which swayed Henry's followers for military resistance and pledged Virginia to inevitable war.
St. John's was the only building in Richmond large enough to accommodate the 121 delegates when they came together in the second Virginia convention to decide whether it would be war or submission to the British crown.
Long after the memorable occasion, Patrick Henry was a dominant figure in the life of Virginia and the nation. Always, he was the stalwart and unrelenting champion of liberty. But when he called upon the Colony to throw off the yoke of British tyranny, his words led soldiers into battle a few months later, and they still ring in the ears of his countrymen.
The little church was packed to its doorsills when the convention opened. It dragged from Monday until Thursday when a resolution was adopted that Jamaica "be assured that it is the most ardent wish of the Colony (and we are persuaded of the whole Continent of North America) to see a speedy return to those halcyon days when we lived a free and happy people."
The conciliatory tone of the measure spurred Henry to action. He was certain there would be no return to the "halcyon days" of old. He saw, too, the danger of exciting in the Colony any such hope, when no time should be lost in arming for the approaching conflict.
He realized the fact that the independent volunteer companies, raised in different parts of the Colony, could not be relied upon for sustained effort, unless they were made a part of the Colonial army, and that any preparation for war, to be efficient, must be organized and controlled under the authority of the Colony. His clear vision had pierced into the future, and he saw that the hour had approached when conflict in the field was at hand. He arose and offered the following resolution:
"Resolved, that a well-regulated militia, composed of gentlemen and yeomen, is the natural strength and only security of a free government; that such a militia in this Colony would forever render it unnecessary for the mother country to keep among us, for the purpose of our defense, any standing army of mercenary soldiers, always subversive of the quiet, and dangerous to the liberties of the people, and would obviate the pretext of taxing us for their support.
"That the establishment of such militia is, at this time, peculiarly necessary, by the state of laws for the protection and defense of the country, some of which have already expired, and others will shortly be so; and that the known remissness of the government in calling us together in legislative capacity, renders it too insecure, in this time of danger and distress, to rely that opportunity will be given renewing them, in general assembly, or making any provision to secure our inestimable rights and liberties from those further violations with which they are threatened.
"Resolved, therefore, that this Colony be immediately put into a state of defense, and that . . . be a committee to prepare a plan for embodying, arming and disciplining such a number of men, as may be sufficient for that purpose."
Animated debate followed. The memorable scene is thus described by Edmund Randolph in his history of Virginia:
"A resolution was passed for immediately putting the Colony in a posture of defense, and for preparing a plan of embodying and disciplining such a number of men as might be sufficient for that purpose. Henry moved and Richard Henry Lee seconded it. The fangs of European criticism might be challenged to spread themselves against the eloquence of that awful day. It was a proud day to a Virginian, feeling and acting with his country. Demosthenes invigorated the timid, and Cicero charmed the backward. The multitude, many of whom had traveled to the convention from a distance, could not suppress their emotion. Henry was his pure self. Those who had toiled in the artifices of scholastic rhetoric were involuntarily driven into an inquiry within themselves whether rules and forms and niceties of elocution would not have been checked by his native fire. It blazed so as to warm the coldest heart. In the sacred place of the meeting, the church, the imagination had no difficulty to conceive, when he launched forth in solemn tones, various causes for scruples against oppressors, that the British king was lying prostrate from the thunder of heaven. Henry was thought in his attitude to resemble St. Paul, while preaching at Athens, and to speak as man was never known to speak before. After every illusion had vanished, a prodigy yet remained.
"It was Patrick Henry, born in obscurity, poor, and without the advantages of literature, rousing the genius of his country and binding a band of patriots together to hurl defiance at the tyranny of so formidable a nation as Great Britain. The enchantment was spontaneous obedience to the working of his soul. When he uttered what commanded respect for himself, he solicited no admiring look from those who surrounded him. If he had, it must have been abashed by meeting every eye fixed upon him. He paused, but he paused full of some rising eruption of eloquence. When he sat down his sounds vibrated so loudly if not in his ears, at least in the memory of his audience, that no member, not even his friend who was to second him, was yet adventurous enough to interfere with that voice which had so recently subdued and captivated. After a few minutes, Richard Henry Lee fanned and refreshed with a gale of pleasure; but the vessel of the revolution was still under the impulse of the tempest, which Henry had created. Artificial oratory fell in copious streams from the mouth of Lee, the rules of persuasion accomplished everything, which rules could effect. If eloquence had been personified, the person of Lee would have been chosen. But Henry trampled upon rules, and yet triumphed, at this time perhaps beyond his own expectations. Jefferson was not silent. He argued closely, profoundly and warmly on the same side. The post in this revolutionary debate, belonging to him, was that at which the theories of republicanism were deposited. Washington was prominent, though silent. His looks bespoke a mind absorbed in meditation on his country's fate; but a positive concert between him and Henry could not more effectually have exhibited him to view, than when Henry, with indignation, ridiculed the idea of peace 'when there was no peace' and enlarged on the duty of preparing for war."
William Wirt, Patrick Henry's first biographer, gives the following condensed account of Henry's speech, gathered from recollections of the hearers, chiefly John Tyler and Judge St. George Tyler:
"He rose at this time with a majesty unusual to him in an exordium, and with all that self-possession by which he was invariably distinguished. 'No man,' he said, 'thought more highly than he did of the patriotism, as well as abilities, of the very worthy gentlemen who have just addressed the house. But different men often saw the same subject in different lights: and therefore, he hoped it would not be thought disrespectful to those gentlemen, if, entertaining, as he did, opinions of a character very opposite to theirs, he should speak forth his sentiments, freely and without reserve. 'This,' he said, 'was no time for ceremony. The question before the house was one of the awful moments to this country. For his own part, he considered it as nothings 'less than a question of freedom or slavery. And in proportion to the magnitude of the subject ought to be the freedom of debate. It was only in this way that they hope to arrive at truth, and fulfill the great responsibility which they held to God and their country. Should he keep back his opinions at such a time, through fear of giving offense, he should consider himself guilty of treason toward his country, and an act of disloyalty toward the majesty of heaven, which he revered above all earthly things.
" 'Mr. President,' said he, 'it is natural to a man to indulge in the illusions of hope. We are apt to shut our eyes against a painful truth--and listen to the song of the syren--till she transforms us into beasts. 'Is this,' he asked 'the part of wise men, engaged in a great and arduous struggle for liberty? Were we disposed to be of the number of those, who having eyes, see not, and having ears, hear not, the things which so nearly concern their temporal salvation? For his part, whatever anguish of spirit it might cost, he was willing to know the whole truth; to know the worst, and provide for it.
" ' He had,' he said, 'but one lamp by which his feet were guided; and that was the lamp of experience. He knew of no other way of judging the future but by the past. And judging by the past, he wished to know what there had been in the conduct of the British ministry for the past 10 years to justify those hopes with which our petition has been lately received? Trust it not, sir; it will prove a snare to your feet. Suffer not yourselves to be betrayed by a kiss. Ask yourself how this gracious reception of our petition comports with those war-like preparations which cover our waters and darken our land. Are fleets and armies necessary to a work of love and reconciliation? Have we shown ourselves so unwillingly to be reconciled that force must be called in to win back our love? Let us not deceive ourselves, sir. These are the implements of war and subjugation--the last arguments to which kings resort.
" 'I ask, gentlemen, sir, what means this martial array, if its purpose be not to force us to submission? Has Great Britain any enemy in this quarter of the world to call for all this accumulation of armies and navies? No sir, she has none. They are meant for us; they can be meant for no other. They are sent over to bind and rivet upon us those chains which the British ministry have been so long forging. And what have we to oppose them? Shall we try argument? Sir, we have been trying that for the past 10 years. Have we anything new to offer upon the subject? Nothing. We have held the subject up to every light of which it is capable; but it has been all in vain. Shall we resort to entreaty and humble supplication? What terms shall we find, which have not already been exhausted? Let us not, I beseech you, sir, deceive ourselves longer. Sir, we have done everything that could be done to avert the storm which is now coming on. We have petitioned--we have remonstrated--we have supplicated--we have prostrated ourselves before the throne, and have implored its interposition to arrest the tyrannical hands of the ministry and Parliament. Our petitions have been slighted; our remonstrations have produced additional violence and insult; our supplications have been disregarded; and we have been spurned, with contempt, from the foot of the throne. In vain, after these things, may we indulge the fond hope of peace and reconciliation? There no longer is any room for hope. If we wish to be free--if we mean to preserve inviolate those inestimable privileges for which we have been so long contending--if we mean not basely to abandon the noble struggle in which we have been so long engaged and which we have pledged ourselves never to abandon until the glorious object of our contest shall be obtained--we must fight! An appeal to arms and to the God of Hosts is all that is left us?' "
Judge Tucker described the scene at this point in the following language:
"Imagine to yourself this speech delivered with all the calm and dignity of Cato of Utica; imagine to yourself the Roman Senate assembled in the capital when it was entered by the profane Gauis, who at first were awed by their presence as if they had entered the assembly of the gods. Imagine that you had heard that Cato addressing such a Senate. Imagine that you saw the handwriting on the wall of Balshazzar's palace. Imagine that you had heard a voice as from heaven uttering the words, 'We must fight.' as the doom of Fate, and you may have some idea of the speaker, the assembly to whom he addressed himself, and the auditory, of which I was one."
The orator's manner had deepened according to Mr. Wirt's account, into a passion and dramatic power which he described as overwhelming. He continued:
" 'They tell us, sir, that we are weak--unable to cope with so formidable an adversary. But when shall we be stronger? Will it be next week, or the next year? Will it be when we are totally disarmed, and when a British guard shall be stationed in every house? Shall we gather strength by irresolution and inaction? Shall we try the means of effectual resistance by lying supinely on our backs, and hugging the delusive phantom of hope, until our enemies shall have bound us hand and foot? Sir, we are not weak, if we make a proper use of those means which the God of nature hath placed in our power. Three millions of people, armed in the holy cause of liberty, and in such a country as that which we possess are invincible by any force which our enemy can send against us. Besides, sir, we shall not fight our battles alone. This is a just God who presides over the destinies of nations; and who will raise up friends to fight our battles for us. The battle, sir, is not to the strong alone; it is to the vigilant, the active, the brave. Besides, sir, we have no election. If we were base enough to desire it, it is now to late to retire from the contest. There is no retreat, but in submission to slavery. Our chains are forged, their clanking may be heard in the plains of Boston! The war is inevitable--and let it come. I repeat, sir, let it come!
" 'It is vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Why stand we here idle? What is it that gentlemen wish? What would they have? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me,' cried he with both arms extended aloft, his brows knit, every feature marked with resolute purpose of his soul, and his voice swelled to its boldest note of exclamation--'give me liberty, or give me death!' "
The report of Patrick Henry's speech, treasured in the memory of so many Americans, has not passed without challenge. Says William Wirt Henry, grandson of the patriot, in his Patrick Henry, Life, Correspondence and Speeches:
"It is most gratifying, however, to find so judicious and careful a writer as Dr. Moses Colt Tyler coming to the conclusion, after examining the evidence, that 'Wirt's version certainly gives the substance of the speech as actually made by Patrick Henry; and for the form of it . . . it is probably far more accurate and authentic than are most of the famous speeches attributed to public characters before reporters' galleries were opened and before the art of reporting was brought to its present perfection.' "
The Church in Richmond Town
Not many historic landmarks are so dear to the heart of the nation as St. John's Church. The ancient house of prayer--at first called "The Church in Richmond Town"--has more than a single claim to the affection of the American people. It was built in 1741 to serve God, and it still remains in service to His Word. It has been consistently a sanctuary to humble spirits.
Unlike some other shrines, St. John's neither charges admission to visitors nor receives aid from the government. The little wooden building which is held in nationwide veneration has been kept open seven days every week by the congregation itself.
But the responsibility of the communicants is grown heavy. No longer are they financially able to bear the burden of maintaining a shrine as well as a place of prayer. Through St. John's Church Foundation, Inc., the vestry, aided by clergymen and laymen, is engaged in raising a modest endowment fund, the income from which will be used to keep open the edifice for the benefit of visitors. Upon the success of this campaign depends the question of whether St. John's will continue to throw back its doors to the thousands who come to honor the memory of the founding fathers every year.
Officers of the foundation are: Alexander W. Waddell, ambassador to Argentina, president; J. Joseph May, vice-president; John B. Welsh, secretary, and Fred W. Scott Jr., treasurer. The officers and the following form the Board of Trustees: W. M. Bryant, Lewis G. Larus, J. Jordan Leake, W. Frank Powers, F. Scott Ride, A. P. Thornton and Zach Toms.
Communications should be addressed to St. John's Church Foundation, Inc., Post Office Box 226, Richmond.
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